


The Art of Manipulation

by gayzsasz



Series: A Fate Resigned [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, IDK it just came to me randomly, M/M, Nothing to do with Bruce's parents, Or whatever they plan on doing, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Selina didn't stab Jeremiah in this, The only gift is the tunnel, and I needed to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayzsasz/pseuds/gayzsasz
Summary: Jim was suddenly thrust back in time to what felt like years ago, but was really only a handful of months. He vividly recalled the man whose only crime was shared blood with a psychopath who had looked at Bruce with stars in his eyes and hadn’t been able to do anything other than follow him to the gates of Hell.But more than that, Jim remembered the words that Bruce had uttered to garner that response. He’d been impressed with the young man’s attitude, but he hadn’t been able to ignore the (gentle and well-meaning) calculation behind Bruce’s words.“You have a brilliant mind.”Oh, that clever kid.Jim, Harvey, and Bruce get captured while trying to take down Jeremiah. Oswald is five minutes from storming in and rescuing them, and Bruce takes it upon himself has to make sure Jeremiah is preoccupied for that long.





	The Art of Manipulation

Oswald was late.

At least, Jim _hoped_ he was late, because the alternatives were that Oswald and his people had been run off by Jeremiah’s goons or they’d been gunned down. And as much as he loathed to admit it, Jim would rather Oswald wasn’t forced into hiding or dead in a ditch. For one, because that would mean Jeremiah had enough firepower to fight off the guy _making_ the firepower, which opened up a whole new world of shit for Jim. Second, he was banking on him showing up to get them out of this mess. And third, well… Jim would just prefer if Oswald wasn’t dead.

Jim sent a look to his left and made quick eye contact with his partner; Harvey sending him a look that conveyed his exact feelings that would undoubtedly be yelled at him later if they, you know, got out of this alive. Jim would deserve it, he knew that. It had been his idea to storm Jeremiah’s hideout right away instead of just waiting for Oswald, and now a lot of good people were dead. Jim glanced to his right just long enough to catch a glimpse of the glassy eyes of one the women that had followed him down here and he swallowed hard—that would be another guilt-ridden image to join his already booked evening of nightmares.

“I wouldn’t feel too bad, _Captain._ You’ll be joining them soon enough.”

Jim turned his attention the orchestrator of it all with a glare to match the venom in the words directed at him. Jeremiah simply smiled something tight and sardonic—he was clearly displeased with the appearance of the GCPD at his doorstep. Usually, Jim wouldn’t care about the preferences of Jeremiah Valeska, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was annoyed that the police had come to get involved in his business, or if maybe what had upset him was who they’d brought with them.

“Jeremiah.”

Bruce sat opposite of Jim and Harvey a few feet away; his arms tied behind his back with what looked to be a scarf, contrary to the duct tape that secured the hands of the two cops to their chairs. Basically all of Gotham knew that Jeremiah had something akin to a soft spot for Bruce, but Jim had never seen it so blatantly on display than right now.

“Bruce, I will get to you, and I promise we will have a nice long chat,” Jeremiah said, his words coming off more as a threat, “I just need to deal with Captain Gordon and Detective Bullock first.”

Bruce opened his mouth to argue—headstrong kid was probably the only person in all of Gotham who could get away with that—but Jeremiah spoke before he could.

“Please, Bruce, don’t make me gag you.”

Bruce snapped his mouth shut, although his eyes did all the talking. It was clear he wanted to scream and rage against Jeremiah—and he deserved to, in Jim’s opinion—but he was smart and was biding his time. The kid had a shocking amount of self-control, Jim had to admit. If he was face-to-face with someone that had tortured him as much as Jeremiah had Bruce, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shut up. But, Jeremiah didn’t seem to care about all of that and instead nodded in thanks before he turned back to the two cops.

“As I was saying. I really wish you hadn’t come running in here, leading your lambs to slaughter. Truly, I do.” Jeremiah swung around slightly and began to pace with his eyes to the ceiling as he spoke, not noticing how Harvey had spotted Jim’s cracked phone, “We’d all be a lot happier if you hadn’t.”

Jim watched as Harvey glanced around before subtly reaching out with his foot and dragging the phone a little closer—Bruce being the only one who noticed the movement. From this angle, Jim couldn’t see the contents of the screen, but Harvey’s eyebrows raised and he looked up to make eye contact with the other two restrained men in the room before faintly mouthing something. Something that only needed the first vowel shape to be decipherable.

_“Oswald.”_

Jim’s eyes widened and he tipped his head slightly; Harvey flashing four fingers to answer his unasked question. The three men exchanged a quick look—the game had changed. They just had to make it four more minutes without a bullet in their heads.

“If you hadn’t, your people wouldn’t be dead and my surprise wouldn’t have been spoiled,” Jeremiah was saying, catching Jim’s attention for the first time since he’d started his unhinged rant, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Of course, you won’t be to _apply_ it because I will be killing you, but still.”

“Surprise?” Jim asked, wary; Jeremiah and surprises went together like ammonia and bleach. Jeremiah clearly picked up on his train of thought and rolled his eyes.

“Relax, James—it’s not for you,” he said, reaching into his coat and withdrawing a handgun that made everyone in the room tense, “In fact, you won’t even live to see it.”

Four minutes was clearly pushing it.

Jim swallowed hard as he looked down the barrel of Jeremiah’s gun and wondered (for the thousandth time) if this was finally it. If this would be the one to take him out. He could take solace in the fact that his death might buy Harvey enough time for Oswald to show up, and failing that, solace in the fact that if anyone made it out of here alive, it would be—.

“Jeremiah.”

Bruce’s voice was even. Surprisingly so, given the situation. And although his body was tense, his expression gave nothing away. Unlike Jeremiah.

Those eerie pale eyes rolled as his jaw clenched—Jim’s concern for Bruce’s safety spiking for a moment—but Jeremiah turned to face the young man with a trained expression.

_“Bruce,”_ he chastised, but his warning went unheeded.

“What did we spoil?” Bruce asked, his brow furrowed but a shrewd edge in his eyes “What surprise? And for who?”

Jeremiah remained still, except for his fingers opening and closing around his gun slightly; Jim getting the sudden but distinct impression that Bruce’s question had made him _uncomfortable._

“You’re smarter than _that,_ Bruce,” he finally said, Jim suddenly realizing that Jeremiah was _right._ Bruce was smarter than that. He’d known the answers to his questions before he’d ever asked them, and the answers were _why_ he asked them.

“A tunnel,” Bruce said simply, leaning slightly to look down the dark passageway people were still going in and out of, “One that connects Gotham to the mainland. You haven’t broken through yet.”

“Getting there,” Jeremiah said simply, sending dark looks towards the henchmen around him, all of whom scurried to work even harder and not incur their messiah’s wrath.

“That doesn’t answer my other question, though.”

Jeremiah was motionless again and this time there was no twitch to break his stillness or words to break the silence that surrounded them. For a moment it was quiet, before a soft sound came from Jim’s left and he looked over to find Harvey desperately trying to muffle his own laughter. When he caught his partner’s eye, Harvey gave up on any pretense and let a few giggles slip through despite the look of complete disbelief painting Jim’s expression.

“Sorry, just… Kid’s really gonna make him say it.”

Jeremiah rounded on them with rage in his eyes and put his gun to Harvey’s forehead, effectively knocking any remaining amusement out of him. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear that Harvey’s laughter had angered him, it occurring to Jim that was because he’d _embarrassed_ him.

“Jeremiah!” Bruce called, trying to catch his attention again, “Jeremiah, was this surprise for me?”

“Yes, Bruce, it is. Now excuse me for a moment, I need to take care of a few things,” Jeremiah said, his voice tight as he pressed the barrel harder against Harvey’s skull; the room going deathly quiet as both men held their breaths and prepared for him to pull the trigger.

“I _love_ it.”

Jeremiah froze.

The two cops did too, but theirs was only for a moment before their brows furrowed and they turned their disbelief onto the young man that sat across from them. But, Bruce’s expression betrayed very little (he always was stoic) and he paid them no mind, as his eyes were focused on the back of Jeremiah’s head.

“You do?” Harvey asked, incredulous. Bruce didn’t even spare him a look as he replied, still wholly fixated on Jeremiah.

“Yes, I do,” Bruce said, sounding _painfully_ genuine.

Given the angle, Jim and Harvey had front row seats to the response Bruce was attentively watching for. A variety of emotions flashed across Jeremiah’s eyes, including self-satisfaction, excitement, and pleasure. But _none_ more prominent than the shock that had overtaken his whole form and kept him from moving for a long, _long_ moment.

“Thank you, Jeremiah.”

Those words woke him up out of his stupor and Jeremiah spun around to face Bruce, although he remained somewhat frozen in the same position he’d been in when he’d been threatening Harvey. He was still for another (much shorter) moment before he straightened up and cleared his throat.

“You’re welcome, Bruce,” Jeremiah said, clearly fighting to return to his façade as he squirmed slightly and readjusted his suit, “Would you like to look at your gift?”

“I would like that very much,” Bruce replied, Jim catching how the corner of Jeremiah’s lip twitched upwards slightly and how he muttered something under his breath. Something that sounded suspiciously like _“I told you so.”_

Jim watched as Jeremiah tucked away his gun and retrieved a knife from his coat as he crossed the distance between him and Bruce; his fists clenching and unclenching as it occurred to him that the reason Jeremiah had chosen to stand in front of Bruce to cut the binds rather than take two more steps to stand behind him was because the former required him to lean over the young man to reach his wrists.

Jeremiah straightened up and Jim caught sight of a flash of _regret_ across his features as Bruce rubbed his wrists to return circulation. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared and instead of saying anything, he just returned his knife to inside his coat and held out a gloved hand to Bruce, who hesitated for only a moment before taking it; Jeremiah tucking his arm in his.

“How close is it to being done?” Bruce asked as he was escorted to the tunnel like the Prince of Gotham he had often been sarcastically referred to as.

“Not as soon as I would like. Unfortunately, loyal followers are not easy to come by,” Jeremiah admitted, before sighing in irritation, “I had hoped to have it finished before I gave it to you.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Bruce reassured the mass murderer, “Like I said, I love it. And I know you’ll finish it.”

As Jeremiah preened, Jim was suddenly thrust back in time to what felt like years ago, but was really only a handful of months. He vividly recalled the man whose only crime was shared blood with a psychopath—so, _so_ different from the one that was entering the tunnel—who had looked at Bruce with stars in his eyes—so, _so_ like the shine that currently gleamed in the ones that watched him now— and hadn’t been able to do anything other than follow him to the gates of Hell.

But more than that, Jim remembered the words that Bruce had uttered to garner that response. He’d been impressed with the young man’s attitude, how he served as a calm in the storm of the world around them, but he hadn’t been able to ignore the (gentle and well-meaning) calculation behind Bruce’s words.

_“You have a brilliant mind.”_

Oh, that clever kid.

Jim had gotten them into this mess, Bruce was just buying them enough time for Oswald to get them out of it.

“You could’ve just _told_ me this was what you were doing,” Bruce said, looking over at Jeremiah with a convincing expression of camaraderie, “I could’ve helped.”

“I wanted it to be a gift,” Jeremiah replied, his affection not in the least bit synthetic, “I was also hopeful that the space would give you a chance to cool after the events of the bridges and what occurred with that b—Selina Kyle. What occurred with Selina Kyle.”

Jim’s eyebrow raised at that and he and Harvey exchanged a quick look with something akin to amusement; five minutes of attention from Bruce was all it took for Jeremiah to start self-censoring. Speaking of which.

Jim hadn’t noticed until very recently that the nameless people that had filled the worksite were thinning out. At first, he had wondered if they had followed some unspoken cue to give their boss some alone time, but one glance at Ecco’s face immediately revealed that to not be the case. She was clearly concerned, but Jim got the impression that she did not want to interrupt Jeremiah unless _absolutely_ necessary.

So, it seemed Oswald was getting better at subtlety.

“Although, I will admit,” Jeremiah said, catching Jim’s attention again and causing him to grimace at the scene that greeted him, “The time spent without you felt hellishly long, even if my reasoning behind that course of action was solid.”

 “Logic never wins the arguments with the heart,” Bruce said with a genuine-seeming smile, and Jim couldn’t help but think of the theater production Lee had dragged him to years ago; they could learn a thing or two from this performance, “I missed you too, Jeremiah.”

The hand that Jeremiah had placed on Bruce’s lower back when Jim’s attention had been elsewhere snaked over to wrap his arm around his waist fully. Jim felt even more guilt pile on top of what had already been weighing on him; he owed Bruce big time for this one. He was going to have to give him all the canned peaches he could find for dealing with Jeremiah’s insistence on cozying up to him.

The room was really emptying out now and Ecco was completely aware that something was wrong, but she still hesitated to draw Jeremiah’s attention. Not that Jim blamed her, self-preservation was probably just kicking in right now. But, clearly she wasn’t the only one to notice, as Bruce suddenly turned to stand across from Jeremiah—making sure that if his attention was on him, it was turned off of the worksite with rapidly disappearing laborers.

“Can I help finish the tunnel?” Bruce asked, Jim unable to see Jeremiah’s facial reaction, but seeing how he placed both his hands on Bruce’s biceps.

“There’s nothing to be done but dig, and I would rather you didn’t work yourself to the bone,” he replied before placing the tips of his gloved fingers under Bruce’s chin and gently tipping it upwards, “But there are many things we can do together, once we’re off this execrable island.”  

Harvey turned to meet Jim’s eyes so the pair could exchange disgusted looks at the thinly veiled double-entendre in Jeremiah’s words (again, canned peaches, all of them), but that quickly slid off of Harvey’s expression and was replaced with surprised but hopeful eyes. Jim turned to see what had caught his attention and found himself echoing that sentiment.

Oswald, entering the room with a cane in one hand and a machine gun in the other.

“Puddin’?!” Ecco called, noticing at the same time as the two cops.

Jeremiah straightened up at her alarmed cry and Jim was just able to catch the panic that flashed in Bruce’s eyes over his shoulder. But, before Jeremiah could turn and see what was causing Ecco distress and do god knows what (return fire or take Bruce hostage were only a few of the worrying options that occurred to Jim), Bruce reached out and—.

Oh.

Oh, god.

Immediately, any concern Jeremiah had for Ecco disappeared and he seemed to forget that she had ever even called out for him. He was preoccupied _completely_ by the young man who had placed his hand on his cheek (to keep him from turning to look) and crashed his lips against his. Jim couldn’t tear his eyes away from the macabre scene and could only watch, dumbfounded as Jeremiah fumbled for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist and pulling him flush against him. Jeremiah kissed him back violently and—god Jim was going to have a hard time erasing this from his memory—Bruce matched him in intensity _easily._

Jim’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as this continued to unfold in front of him. No amount of peaches could make up for this. He shouldn’t have decided to go in without Oswald, but how could he have ever guessed that doing that would lead to Bruce having to make out with the Jeremiah? Would lead to Bruce having to tangle his hands in Jeremiah’s once ginger hair? Having to let Jeremiah brush his gloved fingers against his cheek almost tenderly as he kissed him _aggressively?_ Having to—Jesus, Bruce was really selling this.

Oswald came to a sudden halt—having been distracted by Ecco until one of his men dispatched her—and Jim watched as shock, confusion, and something frighteningly close to appreciation crossed his expression in a span of a second. Finally he turned to the two police officers with his silent question, only to get no answer in return. So, he looked back to the pair who were still locking lips, only to find that Bruce had opened his eyes and now held his hand out towards the crime lord.

Without any further prompting, Oswald tossed Bruce his cane and the three men watched as all pretense dropped away and the hand that had been passionately entangled in Jeremiah’s hair suddenly turned harsh; Bruce breaking the kiss by dragging Jeremiah back and then hitting him hard over the head with Oswald’s cane before he could fully comprehend what was happening.

 It was quiet for a long moment (although only one of the four men was out of breath), but that was broken as Jim and Harvey were in the process of being freed from their bonds by some of Penguin’s men.

“Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot,” Bruce said, retrieving the cane from the ground and handing it to Oswald, who had limped over to stand by the young man. But, instead of saying anything, Oswald simply reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a handkerchief; Bruce’s brow furrowing in confusion as he offered it to him.

“You have lipstick on your face, Mr. Wayne.”

Jim looked up to see that _yes,_ Oswald was right about that. The red that lit up Bruce’s cheeks came somewhat close to matching the shade of red that colored the area around his mouth, and he accepted the handkerchief without a word. He didn’t need to thank him; it was clear Oswald knew how grateful he was.

Finally, both men were free of their duct tape prisons and were rubbing circulation back into their arms. Jim sent a subtle glance over to Harvey and both men silently communicated their extreme discomfort with this situation. But instead of hanging back in an attempt to stave off the inevitable, they both approached the two men standing by the unconscious third. Before the loaded silence could become too stifling, Oswald straightened up.

“I’m going to go make sure my people don’t let any of these freaks get away,” he said, his voice containing barely restrained mirth “I trust you three can deal with this _situation.”_

Oswald turned and walked off, Jim catching the amusement that twisted his lips upwards as he passed by. A part of Jim wanted to stalk after him and demand to know what he thought was so goddamn funny about Bruce putting himself through that because _he_ was the one who was late. But, rather than doing that, he let Oswald leave the building without voicing a single complaint. He could do that later and not in front of the kid who had just made out with the guy who’d shot his sometimes-girlfriend and had tortured his guardian.

Speaking of which, Bruce was looking down at Jeremiah’s unconscious form with an unreadable expression that somehow made the guilt in Jim’s throat sting worse.

“Bruce—.” Jim started, but his voice seemed to wake Bruce out of his reverie and he straightened up just as Oswald had.

“He shouldn’t kill them, they need help.”

He turned on his heel and began to stalk out of the worksite, only to stop short and spin back around. Jim halfway expected him to hiss out some sort of venom at them for putting him in that position, but instead, Bruce spoke with an even, but commanding tone.

“Never tell Selina about this.”

 

“I know I said kill them, now I’m saying capture!”

Jim raised an eyebrow at Oswald’s shrill command and he slowed to a stop beside him.

“Bruce got to you, huh?” He said, glancing over at his (likely temporary) ally. Jim hadn’t checked to see if he was alright when he showed up, he’d been so absorbed with Bruce’s diversion tactic, but it was clear that it wouldn’t have been necessary anyway. Oswald was the same as ever, with big circle sunglasses he must’ve put on sometime between him taking leave of them inside and now.

“Mr. Wayne politely asked me not to gun down these freaks,” Oswald replied, sending Jim a look, “I figured I could allow him to have that much after the day he’s had.”

“Nice of you,” Jim said, feeling tired of sarcasm as soon as the words left his mouth and choosing to speak genuinely, “I owe him.”

“I’ll say,” Oswald said through his chuckles, “I can’t imagine he’ll be getting over that overnight.”

Jim sighed and rubbed his face; he’d known that was the truth, it just didn’t feel good to have it confirmed by someone else.

“Kid’s already had enough trauma,” he said, exhaustion setting in, “And I just added to it by putting him in a situation where he had to pretend to like Jeremiah _fucking_ Valeska.”

Jim looked over at Oswald, expecting to find sympathy, but only finding disbelief. But, just as soon as he’d seen it, it disappeared in favor of Oswald laughing _directly_ into his face. It went uninterrupted for a good, long time and with each passing second, Jim’s indignation grew. He was moments away from tossing Oswald into the back of his car and arresting him when he finally broke up his own giggles.

“Oh, Jim, I’ve missed you,” Oswald said, reaching under his glasses to wipe away a tear and then wagging his finger at him, “You never disappoint. You truly never do.”

“Oswald,” Jim said, his dark tone enough for his laughter to disappear and leave only remnants of amusement in his eyes.

“Jim,” Oswald said seriously, but in the way one seriously speaks to a child, “There isn’t an actor on _Earth_ who could pull off what you’re claiming Bruce did.”

“Oswald, wh—?” Jim wasn’t able to finish his own question. Not because someone interrupted, or because something caught his attention, but because what Oswald was implying had sunk in.

Across the parking lot, Harvey was loading Jeremiah’s unconscious body (less than gently) into one of the cars, and a few feet away stood Bruce, with the same expression he’d had inside. Only difference was that now it was a hell of a lot more readable. Jim had just been choosing to be ignorant. Because there was the expected, the rage and the fire, but there was other things too. Less expected things. Confliction, wistfulness, and—.

“You’d better hope Mr. Wayne keeps it together, Jim. Because if he _ever_ cracks, he and Jeremiah Valeska will make quite the power couple,” Oswald said, clapping Jim on the shoulder as it all came crashing down on the Captain’s head, “One that I, frankly, don’t think you’d be able to beat… Maybe I ought to invite Mr. Wayne for dinner sometime.”

**Author's Note:**

> When Bruce says "Don't tell Selina." he doesn't mean "Don't tell Selina, she'll be mad." he means "Don't tell Selina, I won't ever live this down."


End file.
